


Madam Prunehilda’s Pastries and Petals for the Pernickety Witch and Pragmatic Wizard

by MaroonCamaro



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, M/M, Snarky Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 22:46:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14122464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaroonCamaro/pseuds/MaroonCamaro
Summary: Draco just needed to pick up some rare flowers for the party his mum is throwing. Why did Potter have to be there? And why does Potter have to ruin everything?





	Madam Prunehilda’s Pastries and Petals for the Pernickety Witch and Pragmatic Wizard

**Author's Note:**

> OMG!
> 
> So many people to thank! Lotr58 for the beta (so, so many things needed fixed), Justley for the Brit pick, TWDObsessive and 1Lostone for never losing faith in me and encouraging me, and Sheriffsrevolver for reminding me why I do this. The RWG rocks!
> 
> And I know I promised my TWD readers a long historical fic, but after looking at it for four months and getting absolutely nowhere, I've had to put it aside for now. I am working on a Rickyl though, so fear not.

No one who’d ever been to the Rivera would call London in August hot, but it was definitely warm in Diagon Alley today. It did not matter that Draco had cast his third cooling charm in an hour, he was going to have to unbutton the top button of his robes and walk around like a chav if he didn’t get out of this heat soon. Really, it was disgraceful that anyone would be out on a day like today. But then again, it was late August and every wizarding child between the ages of 11 and 17 was out shopping for Hogwarts gear for the coming year. 

He wasn’t here because he wanted to be here, no. He was here because he’d promised his mum he would go for her. So she didn’t have to endure the heat. Or the stares. Draco sneered at a passing granddad that let his gaze linger too long. The things he would do for his mother.

A sign two shops down caught his attention. Madam Prunehilda’s Pastries and Petals for the Pernickety Witch and Pragmatic Wizard. Apparently that was the only place to find nasturtiums this time of year. Draco wasn’t sure what a nasturtium was, but it was imperative that he fetch some and get them back to the manor for his mother’s garden party. As Narcissa was much too busy with the final touches for the festivities planned for the next day, she’d sent Draco with firm instructions to not get wilty nasturtiums. 

The bell hanging over the door clanged loudly when Draco walked into the shop. “I’ll be with you in a minute!” a voice called from the back of the room. Typical.

Draco let his eyes roam around the boutique. Pastries and flowers crowded together on all the flat surfaces and in glass cases. Beautiful bouquets of bright and exotic flowers vied for space with plates and platters of cakes, biscuits, and pies and pastries of all sorts. Draco peered closer to a plate full of little pies. Madam Prunehilda really shouldn’t have her flowers so close to her puddings; there were flower petals on and...in the pies.  

While most of it was bright and well lit, a portion of the shop was dark and gave off a dank feel, almost like the dungeons back at Hogwarts. No doubt where some of the night-blooming flowers were kept. He squinted and thought for sure he saw some mandrakes in the back corner. Shuddering, he remembered having to repot the little bastards in second year. 

The whole shop did smell delightful; a mix of floral, sweet, chocolate and vanilla. His mouth watered. Maybe there were free samples.

As he walked further into the shop he could hear the same voice from before talking to someone else excitedly, “And these have a lovely mint flavor. Dust them with a bit of sugar and put them on a cake, or put them in your tea.”

The other person mumbled around what sounded like a mouthful of whatever it was that had tasted like mint. Draco didn’t really catch whatever it was that they said. 

“Oh! Something sweeter? I have just the thing!” the voice said. Draco heard the person scurry away. He still wasn’t sure if it was Madam Pruenhilda herself or someone else. The voice could have been that of a woman or a man. 

Navigating around a rather large (and frankly too familiar by the way it seemed to be reaching for Draco) climbing rose, he finally got to the back of the shop where the other customer was.

“Malfoy.”

Fuck. Potter.

“Potter.” Really, what else could he say? Just the way that Draco could twist the name into a profanity easily conferred a whole paragraph’s worth of disdain. 

They stared at each other, each waiting for the other to strike first. It was much more fun for Draco to counter Potter’s drivel with a witty repartee. Potter just stood there with a slack-jawed expression, most likely still trying to think up something that would pass for witty in the Gryffindor common room. It most likely was difficult without the brains of the golden trio around to prompt him.

Draco let his eyes flick down Potter’s body. He certainly looked fit in his fitted Auror uniform. Not that he’d ever tell Potter that, but by the way Potter was smirking when Draco’s eyes worked their way back up to his face, he didn’t need to.

“Like what you see, Malfoy?” 

“Just wondering how you can make even the Auror’s uniform look drab.”

Potter looked down his body and then back up to Draco, taking in the sleek black robes. Eyes narrowing, he commented dryly, “I see you still prefer the overpriced Goth look.”

Rolling his eyes, Draco replied, “Pft, shows what you know. This is hand-tailored Armani for Wizards.” Draco was quite proud of this particular set of robes. He’d paid for them himself with the profits from his first major property sale this past spring.

Potter shrugged his shoulder in what could only be described as mocking, “Still Goth.”

Draco was about to educate Potter on the finer points of Goth (for example, Draco was not wearing any black makeup or nails, and there were no strategic rips or tears in any of his clothes), when the wizard (or was it witch?) came round from the back. It was a smallish wizard (or witch) wearing a frankly garish flowered robe of cabbage roses and vines and a fuchsia pointed hat that was nearly a meter tall.  

“Ah, here we are Auror Potter, I have lavender, violets, and sage flowers. Oh my goodness! I didn’t realize they were all purple! I do hope that fits into your menu!”

“It...er, is fine.”

“Eloquent as always, Potter.” 

The wizard (or witch) started and turned to look at Draco, a sharp look in his eye. “Oh my! A Malfoy!”

Draco pulled himself up to his full height. He wasn’t ashamed of being an Malfoy and was about to tell the little wizard (or witch) just that when the wizard (or witch) stopped him before he could reply, “Oh! I do beg your pardon! I haven’t seen an actual Malfoy in my shop in at least 50 years! Usually it’s just some poor little house elf that looks like it would fall over if I spoke....”

“Yes, I understand!” Draco interrupted, quite sure the little shopkeeper had meant to be an arse. “Mother has sent me round for some nasturtiums if you have any.”

“Are you sure that’s what she sent you for? Not pansies?”

“Of course I’m sure!” Narcissa had written it down for him on a piece of her handmade parchment. She’d stopped short of pinning it to his jacket as if he was a forgetful schoolboy.

“Oh my! But those are out of season!” The fine, gray moustache on the wizard (or witch) quivered with anxiety. 

“Madam Prunehilda,” Potter began.

“OH! Silly, I’m not Pruny! She’s been gone these past twenty-five years!” The wizard (or witch) said with a chuckle.”I’m Dave!”

“ _ Dave _ ?” Harry and Draco said at the same time.

It was the little wizard’s (definitely wizard) turn to stand up to his full height. “My father, Dave Hughes Senior, Salazar rest his soul, was a Muggle. And I’ll have no snide remarks from the likes of you,” he said as he gave Draco a baleful glare.

“Really, I’ve not said anything to you other than I need flowers for my mother.” Draco felt a bit put out by that. So far  _ Dave _ had been the one with the snide remarks and thinly veiled insults. Surely the little wizard knew that Draco and his family had paid their dues and were on the board of the Charitable Organisation Funding for Essential Expenses Benefitting Exiguous and Ne’er-do-well students. Better known as C.O.F.f.E.E. B.E.A.N.S.

“Forgive me, Mr. Malfoy, a preasmption on my part, I’m sure,” Dave said with a sneer.Where had the pleasant little wizard that Potter had been talking to gone?  Draco wondered and shook his head. 

“Er, if it’s alright with you Mr….ah, Hughes…”

“Please call me Dave.”

“Right, Dave. Could you tell me where Madam Purnehilda might have gotten to?”

It was Potter’s turn to get the baleful eye, “What’s it to you?”

Potter blinked in surprise at the sudden change of demeanor. Draco plucked a raspberry pastry off the plate of free pastries on the counter and took a bite. This looked like it was going to be interesting.

And then, like some unseen magic, Potter seemed to stand taller and look more imposing. His voice deepened and became more authoritative, “The Aurors have been getting complaints that maybe Madam Prunehilda has had something unfortunate happen to her.”

A visible shiver ran through Dave (Draco may have shivered too, though not for the same reason) and his eyes darted around the small shop. “She left. Twenty-five years ago. She didn’t say where she was going.”

“So she just...left?” Potter waved his hand around the shop. “She didn’t tell you where she was going or why she was going? She didn’t tell any of her customers she was leaving?” Potter’s voice sounded more and more like tempered steel and less and less like the blathering idiot that Draco had come to know and love. 

Er...not love. Loathe. Yes, loathe. That was it. Definitely not love. That was silly. Draco took another bite if his pastie. 

“Some customers,” snorted Dave. “She’s been gone twenty-five years and they are just now looking after her?” 

Potter cocked his head to the side. “I believe that until recently they had been sending their house elves. Like Mr. Malfoy’s family.” Draco scrunched his nose up at that. He wasn’t sure if Potter was comparing him to a house elf or a clueless customer. 

Dave’s face went red and then white in quick succession. “I don’t know where she went or why she left. I believe that she last spoke with Mr. Tricklebank down at Quality Quidditch Supplies.”

Harry blinked slowly behind his glasses, “Mr. Tricklebank? At Quality Quidditch Supplies?”

“I believe that is what I said, Mr. Potter.” Dave’s voice took on a haughty tone, as though he was chastising a child.

“Auror Potter,” Draco corrected helpfully, also grateful his mother wasn’t here to see him talk with food in his mouth.

“The Mr. Trickleback that was found just last week roving around Clapham Common raving about lavender, violets, and sage flowers, oddly enough.” 

Just out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see Harry’s wand slip from his sleeve into his hand. 

Apparently, so did Mr. Hughes. “I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about. I haven’t seen Pruny or Trickleback in  _ your  _ lifetime  _ Auror _ Potter.”

Draco shifted his weight to his left foot and felt his own wand slip into his hand.

“That’s very interesting, Mr. Hughes. Mr. Trickleback was taken to St. Mungo’s to the Spell Damage ward. You’ve heard of it, right?” Harry didn’t wait for him to respond. “It seems as though poor Mr. Trickleback and Madam Prunehilda have been working at night in Clapham Common in the wizard section of the garden. Cultivating rare nocturnal flowers.”

“I still don’t see what that has to do with me,” Dave said as he slowly inched back towards the counter.

“Well, believe it or not, we actually did find Madam Prunehilda. Not only were she and Mr. Trickleback tending rare flowers at night, but they were also living in a shed during the day. A shed that sits right behind this shop.”

Dave gasped theatrically (Professor Trelawney would be proud). “You’re joking! All this time? Right in the shed behind the shop.” He looked over his shoulder and then back again and shook his head. “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t heard it from you M...ah, Auror Potter.” 

“Really?” Harry’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“You know, I think I’d like to check it out.” He pulled out his own wand and attempted a spell that backfired and left him end-over-teakettle on the floor.

Harry leaned over him. “Sorry mate, had to set up anti-apparition wards. You understand.”

Draco saw the little wizard’s hand twitch toward his wand again and without even thinking, he shot him with a quick stupefy.

The warm smile from Harry about did Draco in, “Thanks, Draco.”

Feeling his face heat up, Draco turned quickly and looked around the little shop, “Where’s your backup? Aren’t there supposed to be two of you?”

“Leave off, Draco. You know Ron’s with Hermione. Besides, how much help do you think he’d be in a pastries shop?” Harry trussed up Hughes with an incarcerous spell. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I came to get flowers for my mum. She’s going to have my hide if I don’t bring them back.”

“Levicorpus ,” Harry said under his breath and then turned back to Draco. “Didn’t he just say they are out of season?”

“Really Potter, are you a wizard or aren’t you? I’m sure a wizard that has two people under enchantment and slaving away in the middle of the night for the last twenty-five years would know how to grow out of season flowers.”

“Why on earth would she need out of season flowers?” Harry was clearly ready to go, but stood there with Mr. Hughes floating beside him.

“She’s..er...having a party. And apparently these are the only flowers that will do.”

“A party? I hope it’s not this Saturday. You know it’s my birthday.” 

Draco looked away.

“Fuck, is your mum throwing a birthday party for me? _Draco_ we were supposed to go to  Cote d'Azur for the weekend! I have my bag packed!”

Draco threw up his hands. “Don’t you think I tried to tell her that? Why don’t you tell her?”

Harry shook his head, “I am not telling your mum we were planning a romantic getaway for my birthday.”

“Well, I already did and she wasn’t having it. So there’s no hope for it, we’ll have to go to the bloody thing.”

“ _ Fuck.” _ Harry groaned.

“Yeah, probably not,” Draco deadpanned.

Harry grabbed an apple fritter off the free table and bit into it mercilessly.

“What about your diet?” Draco asked.

“I was dieting for the beach,” Harry said around a mouthful of apple.

“Right.”

“Right.”

Draco gestured around the shop, “Do you think I could…”

Harry shook his head, “Nope. It’s all evidence now.” He stopped and looked at the half eaten pastie in his hand, “Well, most of it.”

“What the hell am I supposed to tell Mum?”   


“The truth?”

Draco snorted, “Right.  _ So sorry mummy, I couldn’t get your flowers for your party. There was a twenty-five year conspiracy going on and poor Madam Prunehilda’s been under a spell and a Mr. Hughes had taken her place. Oh, and Potter was there and arrested the man. _ Yeah, she’s going to love that.”

“Well, I’m not really feeling very sorry for her or you. I’ve been looking forward to this trip for months! And Hermione’s due to give birth next month and you  _ know  _ how whiny she will be if she thinks I might miss a minute of Hugo’s birth.”

Draco shuddered, the whole process of having loads of people around whilst giving birth just seemed so pedestrian. It was one of the many (many) things that he had to endure if he wanted a relationship with Harry.

He slid his hand around Harry’s waist. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make you a treacle tart for dinner tonight and I’ll watch Doctor What with you.”

“Who.”

“With you, silly.” Draco said, a perplexed expression on his face.

“No, it’s Doctor Who, not Doctor What. And it’s not even on tonight.”

Draco rolled his eyes and leaned in for a kiss. Harry tried to play it cool, but he could never resist Draco’s kisses for long.

They must have gotten lost in the kiss, because they were both startled by a thump at their feet.

“Shite,” Harry curse.

Draco sighed and stepped back. “I’m not sure what time I’ll be home tonight. Mum’s not going to be happy if I don’t find those damn flowers for her.”

“Are you sure you can’t think of something to get us out of going? It’s not even a milestone birthday! I’m just twenty-four.” Harry had the little wizard floating again. Luckily, he hadn’t come to.

“I haven’t the foggiest what to tell you except that you better act surprised when we get there tomorrow or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Your mother is going to be the death of me. Did you know she scheduled me an appointment at Swany Briggs?”

“Potter, really. It’s  Swaine Adeney Brigg. They’ve only been providing quality leather goods to the wizarding world for two centuries.” 

Harry waved off Draco’s explanation, “I like my trainers just fine, thank you very much. I don’t really fancy running after Britain's least desirables in a pair of shoes that cost more than all my clothes combined.”

Draco could only roll his eyes. If Potter would only let him have his way with the pathetic excuse for a wardrobe that hung in a third of their closet, then his handcrafted shoes wouldn’t  _ be  _ the most expensive thing in Harry’s wardrobe. 

“Right, well I will see you sometime this evening. To be honest, I don’t know how long it will take with Mr. Hughes here.” Harry said, gesturing to the floating wizard.

Draco was already halfway to the door. He would just have to pop over to Pansy’s house to see if her mum knew of any other edible flower dealer in all of London that could produce an out-of-season flower today. Because, there was no way he was telling his mother he’d failed to get the perfect surprise for Harry’s surprise birthday party that Harry already knew about.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed that. And no, I'm not sorry about the twist at the end. And don't come at me because you weren't expecting it. I like to surprise people! Twists are fun! 
> 
> Fun fact: Google Docs recognizes all Harry Potter words. And tells you when you've spelled them wrong.
> 
> Also, I'm just as surprised as you are that there isn't any sex.


End file.
